


Backseat Driving

by fleete



Series: Mating Games 2013 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/pseuds/fleete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't have time to get anywhere. They just pull over on the side of the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backseat Driving

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this TFLN: http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/Text-Replies-48618.html
> 
> **content notes** : dubcon (sex pollen), semi-public sex, some embarrassment

“You should arch your back more,” Stiles says. He rubs his cheek absently against the backrest of the driver’s seat and squints at where Scott is crouched in the dark back of the Jeep.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Scott says on an exhale. It’s the first thing Stiles has said in a hour. An _hour_. Scott feels himself tensing up and sucks in air, trying to relax around Isaac’s dick in his ass. He shifts on his hands and knees, spreading his fingers against the floorboards.

Allison’s head appears between the seats.

“Scott.”

“Lie back down; everything’s fine,” Scott says.

“But I…I feel….” She twitches into a full-body shiver. She has her hand down her jeans; Scott can smell it.

“I know. I’ll get to you in a minute.” He jumps a little when he feels teeth graze the top of his spine.

“Stiles is turned on, too.” Allison jabs Stiles in the eye in her attempt to point at him. Stiles barely responds, just lets his head loll sideways, eyelids drooping.

“I know, Allison—”

Just then, his phone lights up between his hands, and Scott breathes a sigh of relief when he reads Derek’s text. _Were you near the dust storm?_

He types out a reply with shaking fingers. _Yes. We all inhaled it. What do we do._

“I have an idea,” Allison proclaims, sitting up straight. “What if. What if Stiles and I did things together.”

Scott opens his mouth to respond, but Isaac chooses that moment to shift his weight, dropping into an accidental grind against Scott’s prostate, and Scott has to drop his head and breathe.

The dust storm had been a blinding, sulfur-colored assault the moment they crossed into the witch’s territory. Stiles had pulled over and they’d quickly rolled up the windows, but it was too late. It was like the full moon, all hot sensation shooting through his legs and hands and balls, and by the time Scott’s head had cleared enough to notice that the storm had subsided, he was bent over in the back of the Jeep, an open tub of Vaseline stuck in the mesh of a lacrosse stick near his hip, and Isaac was fucking into him from the rear doorway.

Stiles’ head drops off the headrest and out of Scott’s sight.

“Stiles?” Scott says loudly. “You okay, buddy? Allison, check on him.”

She prods him. “He’s unconscious.”

“Okay,” Scott says, trying to think. “Okay, maybe you should do something to him. I think the sex helps. It’s helping, right, Isaac?”

“It’s helping,” Isaac says tightly.

“So blow him?” Allison asks.

Scott shakes his head, unsure. His phone flashes again with a new text. Derek’s super helpful advice is: _Go to Deaton’s._

Scott can’t help it; the claw on his thumb goes straight through the screen, and his phone blinks and dies. “God _damn_ it.”

What would Scott have told him? _Actually we stopped the Jeep and went behind it and fucked. With Stiles and Allison there. On the side of the road. As cars drove by._

Scott stills and pulls himself together. The fact is, Stiles’ breath is stuttering, and Allison is shaking almost constantly. They need help, and soon, or who knows what could happen to them? 

The thought makes him sets his jaw. He starts fucking back onto Isaac’s dick.

“Scott?”

“Yeah, yeah, blow him.”

Scott doesn’t see Allison’s mouth close around Stiles’ dick, but he knows it happens when Stiles’ eyes pop open on a gasp.

“It’s okay,” Scott says. He goes up on his knees as much as he can, leaning back into Isaac. “You’re okay, Stiles. Allison’s taking care of you.”

Stiles blinks, taking this in. Scott can see Allison’s shoulders bob in the gap between the seats. There’s a long moment filled with nothing but wet, fleshy sounds.

“You’re leaking,” Stiles remarks some time later, and to Scott’s embarrassment, Allison pulls back to see for herself. A line of sweat trickles from Scott’s bellybutton, and a sticky ribbon of precome waves like a banner as his dick and balls bounce in time to Isaac’s thrusts, all of it exposed to their view.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says, “It’s—”

“So hot,” Allison says in a tiny voice. She and Stiles both stare at him, helpless, while Isaac whines and bucks against his back. 

Some protective instinct wells up in Scott’s throat.

“You’re all going to be okay,” Scott promises, right before he comes in pearly streaks across the lacrosse equipment.


End file.
